


Sweet Thing

by Saint_Rick_The_Dick



Series: Hunger Hurts but Starving Works [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Heartbreak, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 01:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13602354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saint_Rick_The_Dick/pseuds/Saint_Rick_The_Dick
Summary: This series features Rick when he was in the Flesh Curtains. Title and lyrics courtesy of Van Morrison, though it was the Hozier cover that gave me the idea to write this.





	Sweet Thing

Something woke you up. It wasn’t unpleasant, it didn’t jerk you from sleep like the vivid chaos of a nightmare, or slither up your neck like the delirious heat of fever. Instead, it  caressed and then pulled you - with a mellow, gradual rhythm - from the depths of unconsciousness. You laid there a moment before realizing it was the sound of a guitar.

_Rick._

The sun had not yet crested the horizon, the sky still an inky black beyond your windows, but it was early rather than late. You followed the music through your apartment, allowing it to lead you to the man you knew was somewhere within.

You found him on your sofa - his hair was mussed, clothes creased with wrinkles and dried sweat. There had been a show last night, one you had attended, but you’d left shortly thereafter thanks to an 8AM class.

Standing outside his line of sight, you listened as he played and sang. He didn’t do it often, so his singing always surprised you - it was smoother than it should be considering his gruff baritone.

 _And I shall drive my chariot_  
Down your streets and cry  
Hey, it’s me, I’m dynamite  
And I don’t know why’  
And you shall take me strongly -

He stopped, his head tilted to the side.

“Hey, babe. Sorry, I-I wasn’t trying to wake you up.”

You didn’t play coy. Coming around to sit next to him, you could tell by his face he hadn’t slept. His eyes were sunken - dark circles heavy underneath - and deep lines ran around the corners of his mouth. It made him look old, much older than he was, and for a moment you caught a glimpse of the man he would yet become. But then that vision was gone, vanished with the changing shadows as he turned to look at you.

“I haven’t heard that one yet. Is it new?”

Rick nodded, plucking at the guitar strings. 

“I-I wrote it last week. It’s, uh -” he cleared his throat - “- i-it’s about you.”

Rick wasn’t one for emotional overtures. The man was carnal by nature, preferring to express whatever true affection he may harbor towards you via physical means. So you knew this confession had been brought on by a combination of sleep deprivation and what was undoubtedly large amounts of drugs or alcohol, but you felt yourself melt at those words just the same. 

“Can - can you sing it again? Please?”

He didn’t object, fingering his guitar pick before he began to play.

 _I will stroll the merry way and jump the hedges first_  
I will drink clear clean water for to quench my thirst  
I’ll go watch the ferry-boats and I’ll get high  
On the bluer ocean against the waters sky  
I will walk and talk in gardens all wet with rain  
I will never ever ever grow so old again  
Oooh good God you’re a sweet thing  
Oooh good God you’re a sweet thing   


Your breath hitched as you listened, your chest constricting, making it hard to concentrate as your world condensed into this moment, this singular point of focus.

 _I shall raise my hand up into the night, to the night sky_  
And count the stars that are shining in your eye  
Just to dig it all and not to wonder that would be fine  
You said its fine not to read in between the lines  
Oooh good God you’re a sweet thing  
Oooh good God you’re a sweet thing  
Oooh my my my my my sweet thing  
Oooh good God.

Rick stopped, his hands stilled, the last chord ringing out in the silence, filling the space between you. You knew he was exhausted, on the verge of losing the battle against the need for sleep.  There wasn’t much time.

Extracting the instrument from his lap, you laid it beside the sofa before replacing it with yourself. Cupping his wearied face in your hands, you kissed him. He hardly reacted at first - whatever substance he had coursing through his veins was losing its potency, making him pliant - but then he came in to himself and pushed back against you. His tongue ran along your bottom lip, demanding an entrance which you willingly gave. 

Snaking your hands down, you worked to unfasten his belt and free his cock. He was only half hard, but you stroked him to full erection with three pumps as he moaned into your mouth.  Shoving your panties aside, your pussy already wet and slick, you slid yourself down on to his length, your ass stopping to rest on the tops of his thighs. You shivered, his cock filling you, stretching you, before you began rolling your hips. 

Rick’s head fell back, his mouth open in a moan as you fucked him, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You ground down against his pelvis to stimulate your clit, your breath sprinkled with whimpers. He brought his head back up to bite and suck at your neck, no doubt leaving a trail of hickeys you would complain about tomorrow, but right now you didn’t care. You were lost, awash in this alien landscape of emotion and desire. You would never say ‘I love you’, those words were a foreign language, and your sense of self preservation was too strong. Before the start of this tryst, you’d had the foresight to realize that one day he would leave you forever.

But while you couldn’t tell him, you could  _show him._

So you did. You fucked him with all the passion and longing, every unspoken word, every unmitigated ounce of devotion you possessed. And while doing so you whispered his name into his skin, your eyes squeezed shut against the future.

“ _F-fuck_ , baby. Y-you’re gonna make me cum.”

Rick’s voice brought you back. His eyes were half lidded, unfocused as he neared his release. You weren’t concerned with yourself. You just needed  _him_. 

You ran your lips along his jaw, rolled your hips faster to bring him to orgasm, wanting nothing more than for him to fill you up.

“I know you’re tired, honey. But cum for me.  _Please_.”

His breath hitched at the endearment - he was always just 'Rick’ to you - and then he was moaning your name as he came, the sound vibrating into your chest. 

You stilled, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into your pussy, his mouth pressed against your collarbone. 

You gave yourself a moment, allowing your heartbeat to return to normal, but that moment proved too long. He was asleep. Slowly, so as not to wake him, you shifted off his lap and laid him down, covering him with the afghan that lived on the back of your couch. Sliding to the floor, you buried your face in your arms, your breath coming in large, panicky gulps. 

Rick wouldn’t remember this in the morning.

And so you told yourself to forget.

Just like you told yourself you didn’t feel the tears as they began to roll down your cheeks.

Just like you told yourself you didn’t feel anything at all.


End file.
